Worth the Risk
by caskettpr0n
Summary: 2x21 (Den of Thieves) Post-Ep. Castle is jealous (69 position on day 69 of the hiatus countdown). COMPLETE.


**If I've done the math right, we're now 69 days away from the start of Season 7. No prizes for guessing how that inspired me... ;)**

* * *

He never had her, but watching her smile at whatever it is Demming is saying makes him feel like he has lost her.

And the longer he watches the more it stings.

Castle turns away, trains his eyes straight ahead, and leaves the precinct. He doesn't want to see Beckett smiling at Demming, sure as hell doesn't want to see her leave with him. So he goes before that final thought becomes reality.

* * *

He writes. He sits down in his office, opens his laptop, and taps firmly on the keyboard until all his anger is on the screen before him. The hurt remains, however. He can't write that out quite so easily.

The words pour out of him like a floodgate has been opened, they flow out through his fingers and appear in front of him, the blackness within him filling the white on the page. He loses track of how many pages it has become, isn't even aware of how dark the room has become until he glances up between paragraphs on what could be the tenth, or one hundredth, page of his frustrations - and realizes the sun has gone down. He hits the light, and the words begin to drip. He struggles with them now, and when a comma becomes the final key he taps and he finds himself staring blankly at the screen, he accepts he is done now, and leaves the sentence unfinished.

It still hurts, it still feels like he's lost his chance with Beckett. He isn't angry, merely frustrated, and sad. Perhaps he should go to her? Talk, or-

It's stupid, this thought that has suddenly appeared in his mind. So very stupid. She would shoot him on the spot, without hesitation, if he ever voiced it. But maybe it's worth the risk. Maybe she's worth the risk.

* * *

He grabs his coat, pockets his keys, and leaves his apartment. He doesn't let himself dwell on any negative results from these thoughts he's entertaining. He just keeps walking, down the stairs (because standing stationary in the elevator might result in a change of mind), out the door, down the street, to the subway. He takes the train to her stop, standing the entire time, shifting his weight, flexing his fists around the silver bar he holds onto, anything to keep his body moving. He exits the subway blindly, stepping out into the night and towards her hotel without being aware of how he found his way.

She's still staying at a hotel. She had declined his invitation to stay in his guest room more than a few nights after her apartment had been destroyed, and while she searches for a new place she's in some dive he disapproves of, that she won't let him comment on.

It bothers him that she stays there alone, even though he knows she can look after herself. He hates that Demming might be there tonight. He brushes that thought aside, pushes through the main doors, sighs at the empty desk, and heads straight to the elevator. He won't turn back now. He's antsy as the elevator cab ascends, shuffling around the small box, silently willing it to climb faster. It jolts to a stop, the doors open, and then he's pushing forward again, towards her room.

He stops outside her door, hesitates for a second to take a breath and calm his nerves, and then knocks - with no good excuse as to why he's here should she already have company. There's a small peephole, and he knows he's being watched, knows she's looking at him, wondering why he's there.

"Castle?" she asks, tugging the door open and locking her curious eyes on him. "Everything okay?"

He tries to glance over her shoulder, tries to see into the room, praying she's alone. "Did I interrupt _anything_?" he asks, raising his eyebrows on the word anything, and drawing it out.

She rolls her eyes, and opens the door a little wider to reveal an empty room. "No," she says flatly. "What do you need?"

"Can I come in?"

Beckett purses her lips, and then nods. "Yeah, okay."

She stands to the side to allow him to enter. With her back to him, she closes the door, and as she turns, she asks, "Seriously, what's wrong-"

That's as far as she gets, before her mouth is covered with his own, and the words disappear. His hands fall to her waist and he holds her steady while his lips work her unresponsive ones. She stands, her body tense, caught off-guard. But she doesn't pulls back, just lets herself be kissed by him. When he feels her lips start to curve up into a smile he pulls back, surprised by his own courage, and her response.

Her tongue darts out to taste him on her lips. "You're jealous," she states, a little breathless, but sounding less surprised than he'd expected.

His hands still rest at her hips, he holds her unflinching gaze, and then tries his luck again. He leans in and slides his lips across hers. Her lips part, her mouth opens, and she kisses him back fiercely, nipping at his lips, sliding her tongue into his mouth.

Her hands roam up his chest, around to his back, and she pulls him closer. Her mouth assaults his in delicious ways, nipping, and sucking, and grazing, and soothing.

He pushes her back against the door, slides a leg between hers, until she can feel his body responding to her even through all their clothes. Whatever she thinks could be between her and Demming he wants her to forget it, forget him.

She tugs him closer still, and her pelvis grinds against his leg, her lips move with his, and her hands clench around his shirt. Her lips only leave his when she moves them to his ear to murmur, "Bed."

Not bedroom. There isn't one in this room. There's just a bed behind them, one that's probably seen its fair share of debauchery. He steps back, takes her hand, and leads her to the tidily made bed, pleased to see she's removed the top blanket at some stage during her time here, folded it, and placed it on the floor, out of the way.

He eases her down on the bed, and begins working on her clothes, but it's difficult when her hands keep gripping his face and dragging his lips back to her own. He starts with her shirt, and between kisses he works his way through layers, before moving down. As each item of clothing is removed and more of Beckett is revealed he feels his breathing catch. Her bra straps slip down her shoulders, her panties are peeled down her legs, and the sight of her porcelain flesh completely uncovered takes his breath away.

She lays nude on the pale sheets, and in a voice little louder than a sigh she says, "You're wearing too many clothes, Castle."

He undresses quickly, her heavy-lidded dark eyes watching him the entire time. He crawls naked on all fours onto the mattress, and moves up between her spread legs. He should feel predatory, but the way she's watching him turns him into nothing more than prey. She raises up on her elbows, watches him for a moment, and then before he can even blink she swiftly shifts, pushes him back, straddles his waist, and pins him down. She lays her torso on his, her breasts flattening against his chest as she settles and begins to nip at his lower lip. Her mouth leaves his, and her lips follow the line of his jaw to his ear, where she murmurs, "Sure you're not jealous?"

"Not anymore," he manages to grunt out as she lowers her hips and lets her hot, slick core slide along his erection. She rocks against him, stimulating herself along the length of him, letting the tip of him tease her clit. And fuck, he isn't going to hold it together much longer.

His hands roam down her sides, following the soft curves of her body, and committing it all to memory in case this is the only night she allows him to share with her. She raises herself up, and his eyes follow, and then dip. They take in her belly button, lower to the barest hint of dark hair, neatly trimmed, lower to where she slides against him. Her hands cling to his waist while she rocks her hips. He just needs her to shift a little, allow the tip of him to press at her entrance, so he can slide inside her and she can fuck him senseless. Because he's no fool, he's aware of how little control she will allow him. And that thought alone makes him impossibly hard, and he might not survive this.

He eases a hand down to where they are almost joined, gathers up the moisture there on the tip of a finger, and circles her clit. He feels her thighs tense against his own as he touches her, sees the ripple of her stomach muscles when he presses a little harder, and makes the rotations a little smaller.

She arches back, and stops moving for a moment. Her breathing becomes more jagged, and he wonders if she's really so close he's about to make her come. But then she sucks in a breath, slides along his rock hard length one last time, and moves down his legs. Her fingers wrap around his erection, she dips her head, and presses the seam of her lips to the head of his cock.

His fingers curl into her hair to get her attention, and he manages to force out, "Wait."

She stops immediately, pulls her lips away from him, and meets his eyes. Before she can ask what's wrong, he adds, "I want to taste you." He holds a finger up, rotates it, lets her know exactly what he wants - and she gets it.

Beckett swings her leg over him, crawls up the bed, and then turns around, until her ass is in front of his face and he's one hundred percent certain this seedy hotel room is actually heaven. She swings a leg over, his hands find her hips, and he helps lower her, until the tip of his tongue makes contact with her slick clit. He flicks her clit, and then drives his tongue inside her, and elicits a string of gasps and cuss words from her. Her body bends, and she leans over him, grips the base of his erection in her fist, and engulfs his entire length with her mouth. He resists the urge to jerk his hips, and lets her control the speed, lets her control how deep she takes him. He wants to focus on bringing her to orgasm, as he thrusts his tongue inside her, but he can't focus, not anymore. Not when his fingers are pressed tight into her flesh, when the round cheeks of her ass are in his line of sight, when his his tongue is deep inside her, and certainly not when she's snaking the tip of her tongue up the underside of his cock, and then sucking on him like he's her favorite kind of candy. And maybe he is.

He returns to stimulating her clit, tries to find a rhythm, but her hand has cupped his balls, her fingers are squeezing him, and teasing his perineum, her lips are sliding up and down his cock, and her tongue is learning him.

And then her mouth slides off his cock, and she drops her head to his thigh. Her body stills above him, the wiggling of her hips stops, and she cries out in soft sobs of pleasure when she peaks, and comes hard against his lips. He laps at the additional wetness as her orgasm courses through her, still stimulating her through it, until it's too much for her and she eases her shaking leg over his head, and turns. He thinks she's going to take a moment to recover, but with a grace that surprises him she straddles his hips once more, and guides him into her dripping core, her inner walls pulsating around him as she sinks down.

"Fuck," he mutters as she sheaths him.

She gives him a satisfied smile, and then begins to move above him. But it's not enough for him, and when she raises up he slides out of her and smirks at her whimper from the loss of him. He takes hold of her, and flips them, until she is on her back, and he is nestled between her legs - and he begins driving into her. He fills her completely, thrusting deep, and pulling out almost entirely, before pounding back into her. She locks her legs around his waist, grips at his ass, and encourages him with moans and gasps. And when the friction becomes too much, and his orgasms hits him, it's harder than he's ever come before.

Spent, he drops his head into the crook of her neck, and breathes her in. Her hands thread through his hair, and they rest for a moment, his breath hot against her skin, her fingertips massaging his scalp.

He doesn't know what it all means, doesn't know if he'll be allowed to spend the night, or if she'll be kicking him out a few minutes from now. He doesn't know if this will ever be spoken of again, or if it will be repeated tomorrow night. But, right now, he doesn't care. He revels in the warmth of her sated body beneath his, and awaits her next move.

.


End file.
